Beats The Hell Out of the Alternative
by cairistiona7
Summary: Sometime after Bucky's done a lot of healing, Steve finds an old HYDRA file with a photo.


_This one's short and (bitter?)sweet, in pursuit of_ _a plot bunny that hopped through my head while I was looking at a comic book frame. P_ _ost-WS, probably post CA:CW. Comics/MCU combo. Maybe (probably) AU._ _Doesn't really fit either of my current Marvel series, although I guess if it took place in DC, it could be part of the Apartment 4 series. It could also fit with the run of Bucky recovery fics I'm writing, though chronologically, it would fall well after those. Just consider it a cairiverse-connected stand-alone._

 _You can see the photo (*points to story icon* which is the comic frame that I edited to look old) in greater detail on my LJ version of this story (at LJ I'm cairistiona7; swing by and say hi). There's also an early-draft version of this on my tumblr. I prettied this up a little for posting here and at AO3._

 _Unbeta'd. The usual 'they're not mine, they're Marvel's, wah' disclaimers apply. Now I'll shut up so you can read...  
_

-o0o-

"I wasn't sure it was a good idea to show it to you."

Bucky glanced up from the surveillance photo. Steve sat in the chair beside the sofa, rubbing the back of his neck, his entire body hunched in that way that shouted 'worry' and 'This is so bad, what was I thinking'. _Captain Worrywart._ "It's okay. Really. Seeing this doesn't bother me."

The words were mostly true. He _was_ bothered, but only in the way he was _always_ bothered by anything from his days under HYDRA and Russia's control. But where some things woke him up in the night, shaking and vomiting, there were other things that didn't. This photo, of his body floating naked in a stasis tube in some secret HYDRA warehouse, fell in the latter category. He slowly closed the cover of the file, then carefully squared the edge of the folder with the edge of Steve's coffee table. "I don't really remember much about it."

Steve's eyes were dark, almost black as he stared at the yellowed folder. "That they just…stored you…put you away, just another abandoned piece of equipment…"

"Yeah. It's kind of a blow to the ego." Steve looked at him, a little shocked, so he gave Steve a sardonic grin. "I mean, I always figured I was their Stradivarius, you know? But nope. There I was, basically stuffed in the back of the broom closet behind the moldy mops and broken brooms."

Steve looked ready to rip something into pieces, so in order to save the coffee table from a splintery fate, Bucky tapped the file with his left index finger. "Calm down. Really. It's...I mean..." How to explain it. He rubbed his chin with his right hand, staring at the manilla folder under his metallic finger. There was a thought teasing him from the edge of his mind... a feeling... he just needed to chase it down...

"Buck?"

He blinked. "Yeah. It's just... okay, here's the thing. When I was in there… in stasis…no one could…" His throat tightened. Memories, dark and terrible, shoved the words out of reach. He flattened his hand on the folder. Servos clicked deep within his left arm, inaudible to anyone else, but he could feel their vibration. "Um, they couldn't... couldn't..."

"Buck?" He felt a hand, large and warm, on his right knee. "You don't have to-"

The touch grounded him. He gave Steve a grateful glance, then he rubbed both hands over his face. One warm, the other cool. One a part of him, the other... well, maybe someday it would feel a part of him just like someday he'd be able to think straight. "Sorry. I still get lost in my head sometimes. Tryin' to find words."

"Take your time."

He took a breath and then found himself smiling, a wobbly one but a smile nonetheless, because he figured out how to say it. "It just occurred to me that when I was in there, I was…I was actually safe, you know?"

Steve looked horrified. "Bucky, that's not being sa–"

"No, hear me out. Please. I mean, yeah, the whole thing, what they did, what they made me into…it was terrible. Horrible. I wasn't really safe, ever. I know that. But they weren't able to... I didn't have to... it was like I was sleeping, okay? Just sleeping and not..." _Don't make me go into detail, pal, unless you want me to toss my cookies all over your nice sofa._

Steve crossed his arms, less horrified but still mulishly frowning like he'd just discovered someone had folded the American flag wrong and caterpillars had eaten all the golden waves of grain.

"Okay, maybe safe isn't the best word. But it's more than that. I look at this photo and I realize..." His brain finally relented and allowed a moment of clarity. "Steve, I realize if they hadn't froze me for all those years, almost the same exact number of years that _you_ were frozen..." Words failed him again, but only because his throat had knotted up.

"We wouldn't be here now, together," Steve said softly.

Bucky shrugged. Cleared his throat. "Yeah."

To his relief, all Steve did was nod. He had some dampness in his eyes, but he blinked and swiped at his nose and heroically resisted lunging from his chair to give Bucky a hug. Bucky wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Good, solid brotherly hugs were nice. He'd gone seventy years without one; he had a lot of catching up to do. But one now... nah, it wouldn't be good. Too much slobbering and sniffing and stopped up sinuses; it was too close to supper time for all that. So he was glad when Steve just gave him a crooked grin and said, "I guess that's a good way to look at it, huh."

"Beats the hell out of the alternative."

"Yeah, I guess it does."

Bucky reached over and punched his shoulder. "Come on, enough sappy stuff. Let's go eat. All this soul-searching is makin' me hungry."

"Sure, Buck. What sounds good?" Steve said as he stood. He stamped both feet to settle his jeans.

"I'm always up for pa-"

"No. Not a pancake house!"

 _Damn._


End file.
